


That One Scene from Ghost, in the Borderlands, Extra Spicy

by wilddragonflying



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possession Kink, Rhys isn't entirely sure he wants jack to do this even tho he's curious, and he lets jack talk him into it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 05:52:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: What it says on the tin.





	That One Scene from Ghost, in the Borderlands, Extra Spicy

Rhys has _almost_ reached the point where it’s no longer a surprise when he sees Jack’s face in the mirror instead of his own. Almost, but not quite - and not for a lack of trying on Jack’s part. This particular time, Rhys counts his lucky stars that he’s got the caravan to himself, because he yelps.

Jack, of course, the _fucker,_ just laughs at him. “You’d think you’d be used to this by now, Rhysie,” he smirks. “How’s your little road trip coming along?”

“Fine,” Rhys mutters, glancing at the door. “Not that it’s any of your business. What the hell do you want _this_ time?”

Jack’s eyes roll in a spectacularly dramatic fashion. “I’m _bored,_ ” he announces, his image flickering from the mirror to stand in front of Rhys, arms spread wide. “And since you’re the only one who can see me, congratulations! You get to entertain me!”

Rhys groans as theatrically as he possibly can. “ _No._ Fuck off and entertain yourself, Jack, we’re busy trying to track down Gortys’s pieces, I don’t have time to entertain an AI manchild.”

Jack’s eyes narrow dangerously, but Rhys just walks right through his incorporeal body - only to freeze, something sparking behind his ECHOeye. “Fuck off and entertain myself?” Jack repeats, his voice echoing strangely in Rhys’s head, Rhys’s arm going dead and twitchy the same way that it had back in the Atlas facility where they’d found Gortys. “That’s a dangerous thing to say to me, cupcake.”

“Get the _hell_ out of my arm,” Rhys hisses, flesh hand clenching around his metal forearm, the arm that no longer feels quite like _his._

“No, see, I don’t think so,” Jack hums. “I think that there’s a lot of things I’ve been wanting to try out… And some things that _you’ve_ been wanting to try out.”

Rhys freezes. “What - What are you talking about?” he chokes out, desperately trying to keep his mind from darting exactly to the things that Jack’s talking about.

“Don’t act all _innocent_ with me, pumpkin, I’m literally inside your head, remember?” Jack’s words are accompanied with a low, borderline cruel laugh. “You remember how I took control of your arm, used it to hack those drones. The way it felt foreign on your body, the way you could _feel me_ taking control from you.”

Rhys’s arm jerks in its socket, pulling him off-balance, and he stumbles, right arm catching him on the edge of the vanity with the mirror. Almost against his will, Rhys lifts his head, meets Jack’s gaze in the mirror, breath catching in his throat at the smirk on Jack’s face in the mirror, the way his eyes are glowing gold. “ _Jack,_ ” Rhys growls, does his best to look serious and not at all turned on. “Give me back my arm.”

Jack laughs; seeing him laugh is so much worse than just _hearing_ him, especially when Rhys can feel that foreign electric buzz _inside_ of himself, the one that says he’s not completely in control right now. “We’re alone right now, Rhysie,” Jack purrs, leaning in, Rhys’s right arm shifting, tracing metal fingertips over the buttons of his shirt. “Your friends won’t be back for a while. Plenty of time for us to entertain each other…”

“ _Jack_ …” Rhys breathes, a warning and a plea - Jack blatantly ignores the warning, pounces on the plea. He moves Rhys’s arm, palm sliding against and catching on the fabric of his shirt, then against his belt buckle. “Jack, what’re you - “

“Oh, c’mon, Rhysie,” Jack chuckles, glowing gaze following the movement of his hand, sharpening when Rhys moans at the feeling of his uncontrolled hand cupping himself through the fabric of his pants. “Don’t pretend like you’re not curious.” 

“You’re not real,” Rhys mutters, more to himself, but Jack responds anyway.

“I’m real enough, pumpkin,” he purrs. “Nakayama was damned good at his job, and he was a perfectionist, to boot.” He moves Rhys’s hand, fingers curling, tracing the length of his cock through his pants, and Rhys bites back an involuntary moan. 

Look, he’s always been sensitive, alright? Least little bit of friction gets him going.

“Sure, sure,” Jack laughs, and Rhys startles, nearly bites his tongue at the sound. “It’s all about the friction, and the fact that you don’t have control over your own arm isn’t doing it for you _at all."_

“How the hell did you - “

“I’m literally inside your head, kitten, keep up. Can’t read every thought, but something like _that?_ ” Jack’s quiet laughter rumbles through Rhys’s mind, and he does his best to ignore the way that his cock twitches in his pants at the sound, at the realization. 

Rhys gasps when his hand moves again, fingers flicking against his belt, undoing it quickly. “Jack, what’re you - “

“You told me to entertain myself, Rhysie, and I haven’t gotten laid in a _long_ time. Can’t exactly touch anyone else, so…” He punctuates the sentence with another move of Rhys’s hand, sliding into his pants and palming his rapidly-hardening cock. “Guess I’ll just have to use your hand to touch you. No different than jerkin’ off, right?”

“It is when _you’re_ the one controlling my arm!” Rhys hisses, left hand pushing uselessly at the metal of his right, which refuses to move. “Jack, seriously, do- _oh-n’t!”_ His voice breaks in the middle, a moan brought on by Jack squeezing his cock and stroking in one long stroke interrupting him. 

“You _sure_ you want me to stop?” Jack laughs, and Rhys bites back a moan when he feels the fingers of his right hand move, inching upwards and hooking into the waistband of his pants. “You seem pretty pent-up, Rhysie. And you seem _pretty_ into this. C’mon, let me jack you off, pumpkin. Heh. _Jack_ you off. Anyway, it’ll keep me entertained for a while, help you relax, and maybe you and I can bond a little bit, make you a little more receptive to me being around.”

Rhys hesitates, not sure if he fully trusts what Jack is telling him - but after a moment, he licks his lips, meets Jack’s glowing golden gaze in the mirror, and nods. “Okay.”

Jack’s grin turns positively _feral,_ and Rhys doesn’t have a chance to brace himself before he loses all feedback from and control of his right hand, a warning flickering briefly in his ECHOeye display before Jack waves it away. “ _Now_ we’re talking,” he says, grinning, and Rhys gasps when his right hand moves, pushing down his underwear, shoving his pants out of the way so that metal fingers can wrap around his cock and pump, slowly. Rhys braces himself with his left hand against the vanity, panting, and can’t help the way his gaze drops, biting his lip at the sight of his hand moving over his cock without any input from himself. 

“ _Fuck,_ ” he breathes, hips jerking, fucking himself into Jack’s grip. 

“That’s it,” Jack purrs, tightening his grip, and Rhys’s breath catches in his throat - there’s a reason he learned to jerk off left-handed, wary of pinching the sensitive skin of his dick in his right hand, or losing control over his grip.

He doesn’t have any control now, and the fear is _thrilling._

Carefully, Rhys rocks his hips, heat spreading across his face when Jack rumbles praise at him, twists his grip and swipes a metallic thumb over the head of his cock. Rhys whines, lets himself settle into the rhythm Jack sets. It’s not slow, but despite the quick pace, it’s not exactly _hurried,_ either. He doesn’t seem concerned with the fact that anyone could walk in on them at any moment, but the uncertainty, the threat of Fiona or Sasha or, God forbid, _Athena_ seeing him like this is enough to push Rhys closer to the edge, make him muffle a frantic noise into the palm of his hand. 

Jack’s laugh is mocking. “Too bad you don’t have two metal arms, eh, Rhysie? Could keep you from muffling yourself, make you be as loud as I want you to. Or hell, I could do that if I had my own body, push you up against a wall, pin your hands over your head while I work your cock. Bet I could wring some _real_ pretty noises out of you if I had time,” he muses in a low, distracted hum, and Rhys can’t bite back his moan. “Yeah, _just_ like that, pumpkin,” Jack purrs, rewarding Rhys with a squeeze around his cock and a firm stroke. 

“ _Jack,_ ” Rhys whines, not daring to let himself be any louder, mindful of the unlocked door behind him, the fact that the caravan is very much _not_ soundproofed. 

“ _Rhys,_ ” Jack mocks, his grin shifting into a smirk. “C’mon, kitten, let go. Don’t want either of those pretty girls walking in on us, do you? You’ve managed to keep me a secret so far, bet that wouldn’t last long if they walked in on us with my hand down your pants. Be kind of hard to explain that away.”

“Yeah, it would be,” Rhys manages to choke out, groaning when Jack grins at him through the mirror. He takes a deep, shuddering breath, lets it out slowly - 

And lets go.

Jack’s grin sharpens into something predatory when he feels the last of Rhys’s resistance fall away. “That’s it,” he purrs; Rhys can barely hear Jack in his head over the sound of his own whimpers as Jack picks up the pace, works his cock harder and faster, strokes alternating between firm and soft, wrist twisting so that the fly of his pants catches against the sharp angles of his wrist joint. 

It’s all so good, quickly becoming too much, and when Rhys comes, Jack shifts his hand, catches Rhys’s come in his palm - and then lifts it up to Rhys’s mouth, watching him with a sharp gaze. When Rhys hesitates, he quirks an eyebrow. “Go on, Rhysie - clean yourself up.”

Rhys swallows, hard - but then his tongue darts out, and his licks his own come from his hand, meeting Jack’s gaze in the mirror. His eyes are dark, gaze hooded as he watches Rhys, and it’s only when Rhys feels his arm reconnect to his body that he breaks his gaze away from the mirror, looking down so he can tuck himself back into his pants.

“Well,” Jack says, abruptly enough that Rhys startles, swears when he catches the skin of his thumb in the zipper of his fly. “That was fun, and bonus, I can actually feel the endorphins you’re feeling right now! Only way that could’ve been better would’ve been if I actually had a body. Something to keep in mind if we ever get back on Helios.”

Rhys looks up quickly, brow furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve got _plans,_ Rhys,” Jack laughs. “Why do you think I offered to partner up with you? You’re cute, but more importantly, you’ve got what I need. Stick around, maybe I can give _you_ something you need - or want.”

Not for the first time, Rhys thinks he’s made a deal with the devil - but damned if it doesn’t seem worth it. 


End file.
